


A Pretty Little Lost Cause

by withthekeyisking



Series: Romin Week Fics [3]
Category: Batman (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Anal Sex, Cock Cages, Collars, Daddy Kink, Deepthroating, Drugged Sex, Face-Fucking, Gags, M/M, Memory Loss, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Objectification, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-25 12:47:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30089301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthekeyisking/pseuds/withthekeyisking
Summary: Dealing with Wayne Enterprises is always an irritant, but it's worth it for the way the pretty little CEO makes it worth Roman's while afterwards.Of course, Drake doesn't make it worth his whilewillingly...but that's a small detail, barely worth noting.
Relationships: Tim Drake/Roman Sionis
Series: Romin Week Fics [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2209413
Comments: 4
Kudos: 58
Collections: Romin Week 2021





	A Pretty Little Lost Cause

**Author's Note:**

> Day 3: Earth 3 | Sex Worker AU | **Collars**
> 
> This is so, _so_ different from what it started out as 😂 someday I'll finish up the original fic and post it, but for now enjoy Roman drugging and fucking Tim!

Roman's drawn out of his focus on his work when an intense shudder runs through his footstool.

He finishes up the sentence he was typing, and then leans back in his chair, tilting his head to glance under his desk. A smile turns his lips as his eyes rove over the pale, sweat-damp skin, the shaking limbs, the black hair tousled from having been grabbed roughly earlier. The way the boy's head is dropped forward shows off the back of his neck, and thus the black collar wrapped around his throat.

Roman can't actually see it at the moment, but in his mind's eye he pictures the front of the collar, the bold _ROMAN_ engraved there in silver letters.

He digs his heels into the small of the footstool's back, and another shudder runs through him. He's been under there for quite a while now, and the position is clearly getting to him, little muffled whimpers escaping him. It's a cramped space, not at all comfortable, made all the worse by the painful pressure of Roman's dress shoes and the large vibrator still buzzing away in his ass. Plus the cock cage Roman put on him earlier isn't exactly the kindest of the ones he owns.

But the kid had really pissed him off today, and he'd been in a mood to make him suffer. He has to be creative to satisfy the urge without leaving any unexplainable marks.

After watching for a moment longer, Roman swings his legs to the side, planting his feet back on the ground. A glance at the clock tells him it's been three hours since he shuffled the boy under the desk. He's almost impressed it took that long for the body to start shaking as much as it is now. Or maybe it had been doing so for a while, and Roman had just been so wrapped up in what he'd been working on that he didn't notice.

Roman reaches out a hand, placing two fingers under the boy's chin and lightly pushing up, tilting the boy's face to look at him head on.

Eyes that just earlier today had been sharp and shrewd are now clouded and dazed, unaware of what's truly going on around him. Lips that had sent a thin, superior smirk Roman's way are now bright red and stretched appealingly around a ball gag. Once pale cheeks now flushed bright red. Absolutely gorgeous.

Timothy Drake-Wayne is a jumped up little shit with far more power than a nineteen-year-old should reasonably have, let alone one who doesn't know what's good for him. Never backs down from things he should, never takes the hint to move in different directions than the course he'd originally set. Obstinate and cunning and smug as fuck, even if he hides it well.

Roman can admit Wayne picked well. Underneath the fact that Drake is a complete and utter brat, he's a good businessman. Has an eye for it, certainly far more than Wayne ever did. Drake inherited his mind and talent from his real parents, that's for sure. Wayne is nothing but a idiotic man-child, but putting Drake at the helm of his company was the one sound decision he made.

Of course, that's fucking _awful_ for Roman, because the worst combination an enemy can have is a sharp mind and a tendency to have blinders up to shit they should understand. Drake might be business smart, but he sure as hell isn't street smart, Roman's threats always going right over his head.

You can't threaten someone who has no idea that what you're doing is threatening.

So meetings with Wayne Enterprises are always dreadful and useless, and Roman hates them despite their necessity. _One day_ he'll come out on top. One day he'll beat Drake at his own game.

But for now, he just has to settle for venting his frustrations on the boy king himself.

"Hello, sweetheart," Roman coos, brushing his thumb over Drake's stretched bottom lip. "Having fun being my footstool? Feel good being useful for once instead of a giant fucking pain in the ass?"

The boy won't remember any of this after they're done for the night. He never does. It's a drug of Roman's own design, specially made to make the subject pliant and hazy and then completely blank about what happened once it's over. Nothing but a headache and a bit of nausea left behind.

It's how Roman's been able to enjoy Drake's _company,_ whenever he's pissed off at the brat or WE or Bruce Wayne or, hell, the world in general. It's also why Roman can't actually do anything that would leave strange marks—if he wants to keep having his fun, that means doing nothing that would make Drake suspicious that something's going on.

So no whipping, no burning, no anything extreme. A shame, but after all this time Roman's found a balance that works for him.

He slides his hand down, running his fingers over the collar, over the five letters that claim this brat as property of Roman. It's tight around Drake's throat, enough for him to really feel it on every breath. For breathing to be just a little bit hard. Roman wiggles a finger underneath it anyway, and then tugs, guiding the boy out from under the desk.

With the finger hooked under the collar, Roman pulls upward, and Drake moves with it pliantly, lifting into a high kneel and then lifting his head as far as he can when Roman keeps pulling. Like this, there's a faint wheeze to the kid's breathing. His clouded eyes blink slowly, his body still trembling faintly with the aftereffects of the position he'd held for a long while.

"You're just a dumb little pet like this, aren't you?" Roman asks, releasing his grip on the collar and enjoying the way Drake slumps back into a low kneel, thighs pressing against calves. "I could do anything I want to you right now, and you wouldn't lift a finger to stop me."

Drake, predictably, has no response to that. Roman doubts the brat even knows what he said, or if he does he certainly doesn't have the brain power at the moment to _care._ No, he's just a good little toy while riding high on Roman's concoction.

He's half-hard in his slacks, has been for most of the time Drake was under his desk, and he pops open his button and pulls down his zipper, fishing his cock out of his pants. He strokes himself lazily, eyes sliding over Drake's body as he does so.

The boy is hard as a rock inside the cock cage, definitely thanks to the vibrator still at work, and it looks painful. It makes Roman smile.

"If I had my way," he drawls, rocking his hips forward to press the side of his cock against Drake's cheek. "I'd chop your little dick off. You don't need it, after all. Toys don't need dicks. What's the point of it if all you are is a warm hole to fuck?"

He lets the fantasy capture him for a minute. Owning Drake, taking the little bitch for his own— _permanently._ He'd have to train the brat up of course, make it so he's obedient even without the use of the drugs. It shouldn't be all that hard, considering Drake already has a daddy that surely gives him all kinds of orders, but still, Drake is strong-willed. He'd probably put up something of a fight. Breaking him would be oh so delightful.

He'd remove the unnecessary bits, castrate the boy. Tattoo Roman's name onto his skin, or maybe brand him. Yes, pressing a red-hot brand to Drake's skin certainly is an appealing image. Pierce his nipples. Maybe tattoo a permanent collar around his neck to go under the leather one. Never let him escape how owned he is, how he _belongs_ to Roman.

No longer the hotshot CEO, but Roman's bitch.

Someday. It'll happen someday. When Wayne once again moves on to a younger model, another pretty little black-haired, blue-eyed orphan, _then_ Roman will strike. He'll swoop in, take Drake as his own. Show him what it's like to have a daddy who will never leave him, who really knows how to put him in his place.

For now, he has to be content with the fantasy.

Roman slaps Drake's face with his cock, smirking at the way the boy flinches but doesn't pull away. He leans forward, reaching around to the back of the boy's head and undoing the buckle of the gag one-handed, letting it drop to the hardwood floor with a wet sound. Drake's jaw remains hanging open, and with the obstruction gone his breathy little whimpers are easy to hear, and music to Roman's ears.

"Enjoying the vibrator, pet?" Roman asks. "Bet you're really desperate to come, huh?"

Drake pants up at him, all big blue eyes and spit-slick lips. He makes a noise in the back of his throat, something that Roman thinks would've been a word if Drake was in any way cognizant enough to speak. Right now all it is is a reminder of how much power Roman has over him.

He hooks a finger under the collar again, brushing his thumb over the letters of his name in an automatic gesture, and drags Drake closer. The boy stumbles, flailing a little and making Roman snort, but goes pliantly where Roman moves him, right between his spread thighs, face close to his cock.

"Why don't you kiss it, pet," Roman murmurs, slapping Drake's face with his cock again teasingly.

It takes a couple seconds for the request to make its way past the fog, and then Drake's lips flutter against the side of Roman's dick. His pink tongue darts out, and Roman hisses as it drags momentarily along his overheated flesh, rocking up into the touch.

Wanting more, he yanks Drake into position and then shoves himself into the brat's mouth, uncaring for the boy's comfort. Drake gags, giving a full-body shudder, and his hands scramble weakly and aimlessly by Roman's ankles as Roman forces himself in as deep as he can with a low moan.

"Fuck," Roman says with a breathless laugh, feeling Drake's throat clench around him, the twitching of the muscles as they try to adjust to the invasion. Drake lets out a helpless mewl, and the noise sends a pulse of arousal coursing through Roman, making his cock throb.

He pulls Drake's head back, humming with pleasure at the slow slide out of his throat and mouth, and then right back in. He yanks him more roughly on the next thrust, forcing Drake down on his cock again and again, his balls slapping against the slut's chin as he fucks his face.

Drake gags and chokes but takes it, takes it like the good whore he is.

"Wayne sure knows how to pick 'em," Roman snarls, arousal growing as tears begin to pool in Drake's eyes and then spill down his cheeks. "He ever fuck your throat like this, baby? Force you to take him like a bitch? Or is he nice and gentle with you, treating you like a little pillow princess? He ever give you what you need? You need a real man to show you how things are. To _take_ you, force you to listen. That's what all you uppity bitches want in the end. To have the control taken from your hands."

He grunts, hips jerking forward to meet each pull of Drake's head. "Heh. I'll be that for you, pet, don't you worry. Daddy knows how to take care of his things."

Roman can feel himself getting close, but he doesn't want it to end here, as appealing as coming down Drake's throat is. So he plants a foot in the center of Drake's chest and shoves, smirking as the brat goes sprawling, a moan crawling out of his throat as the vibrator is surely jostled.

He makes such a pretty picture like that, limbs splayed and showing himself off, everything on display. So vulnerable, so _needy._ And all Roman's.

For the night, anyway. For _ever_ someday.

He follows the brat down, grinding against him as he lets his hands roam, pinching and scraping, leaving red marks in his wake. They'll fade before Drake notices them, but they're satisfying in the moment. As is the way Drake looks when Roman wraps a hand around his throat just above the collar, applying enough pressure to make Drake wheeze.

He wants to keep squeezing. He wants to dig his fingers into this soft, vulnerable flesh until he cuts off Drake's air, watch the boy twitch and gasp beneath him, desperate for a breath Roman will not allow. He wants there to be a large bruise left behind, the imprint of his fingers clear. He wants Drake to have to walk around like that, everyone _seeing_ just what the little whore CEO has been up to.

Someday. Someday someday someday.

Roman flips Drake onto his stomach, snorting at the _oomph_ that elicits, and grabs his hips to pull them up. The deep arch of his back is appealing, and Roman runs his right hand along the knobs of his spine as his left reaches for the flared base of the vibrator still sitting snugly in the brat's ass.

He twists it experimentally, wiggling it around, the action drawing a short groan from the boy. Roman smirks as he fucks the toy in and out, his fingers shaking under the force of the vibration. It makes a wet noise as it moves, lube and Roman's cum from earlier slicking the way.

"You hear that, pet?" Roman asks, voice a low goad. "Hear how wet you are for me? Like a bitch in heat, so fucking _desperate_ to be filled. You're even presenting your ass to me like an animal. Should get you a tail and ears and mitts, really complete the picture."

He yanks the vibrator out when he grows bored of playing with it, not bothering to turn it off for now, tossing it somewhere to be collected later. He gives himself a few rough strokes, and then lines up with the brat's fluttering hole, pushing in in one smooth thrust.

Drake shudders underneath him, the muscles of his ass clenching weakly around Roman as he slides home. He lets out a whimper when Roman grinds in deeper, fucking against the boy's prostate just for a little bit more torture.

Roman doesn't bother with being too gentle. He pulls out and then snaps his hips forward, fucking back into the tight, wet, warm hole ready for his use. His hands clamp down onto Drake's hips to keep him from sliding across the floor, yanking him back to meet each of Roman's rough thrusts.

Drake moans, twitching and shaking. How different this sight is from the calm and in control _Timothy Drake-Wayne_ Roman sat across from just this afternoon. Nothing like Wayne's good little boy king. No, right now he's just a wanton whore, squirming around Roman's cock with Roman's collar around his throat like he was always meant to be right here.

He doesn't last all that long, honestly. He fucks hard and fast into the pliant body under him, and moans when he comes, fucking Drake through his orgasm. He presses his forehead between the boy's shoulder blades, panting, coming down.

When he pulls out, a trail of cum follows his cock, and with a smirk he swipes it up and pushes it back inside of Drake's sloppy hole. He fucks his fingers in with enough force that the small body rocks back and forth, malleable and easy under Roman's ministrations.

When he removes his fingers, they're slick with cum, and he reaches forward immediately to shove his fingers into Drake's mouth. The brat gags as they hit the back of his throat, but obediently closes his lips around the digits, sucking on them like a child might a pacifier.

Roman pulls out his fingers with a wet _pop_ and then climbs back to his feet, tucking himself back into his pants. He surveys the still pliant form of Drake at his feet, admiring the sight, imagining a future where this will be a twenty-four/seven occurrence instead of a dalliance here and there.

He kicks at Drake's thighs, applying pressure to nudge the boy into motion. Drake moves with it, shuffling forward on his knees and forearms until he's back under Roman's desk, this time with his ass facing out and raised appealingly, showing off his puffy red hole, dripping with Roman's cum.

Roman drops back into his chair with a pleased sigh, rolling out a crack in his neck. He lifts his feet and settles them right back into position, digging into the small of Drake's back, drawing a small whimper out of the boy.

And then, after one final look at the pleasant sight under his desk, Roman turns his attention back to what he'd been working on before, settling in to ignore his living footstool for another hour or two.

* * *

Tim swallows the two Advil tablets dry, grimacing as they scrap along his throat.

His immune system is such a joke. He gets colds all the time these days, and while they're not that big a deal—so what if he has a headache and a sore throat for a little while, and feels like puking his guts out?—they're certainly frustrating when they happen with such frequency and regularity.

Not unmanageable, but still. Something he'd rather not have to deal with for the way it splits his focus and makes concentrating the slightest bit harder.

He blinks rapidly, cursing himself for zoning out and proving his own point, trying to not look like he hadn't been paying attention. No one in the meeting seems to have noticed, but when he glances to the left he sees that Sionis' eyes are locked onto him, gaze heavy and intense.

Damn but Tim hates having to deal with this man. Especially so soon after the last meeting, just yesterday. He prefers his Black Mask to come in _small_ doses, not consistent ones. The man is just too much creepy and too much annoying to deal with on a day-to-day basis.

"Feeling alright?" Sionis asks, voice lowered as to not disrupt the person currently speaking.

"I'm fine," Tim replies smoothly. "Just a cold."

Sionis' lips twitch in an aborted smirk. He inclines his head as if accepting Tim's answer, but there's something in his eyes...

Tim looks away, refocusing on the subject at hand. He does his best to put the look in Sionis' eyes out of his head, along with the strong sense of foreboding that rises inside of him.

**Author's Note:**

> Almost halfway through the week my dudes!  
>   
> [My tumblr](https://boyblunder-thedarkheir.tumblr.com/)


End file.
